


Behind The Curtain

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post Whose Line Is It Anyway?, Whose Live Anyway?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chip watches helplessly as Jeff's life spirals downwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind The Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Trick or Treat Halloween fest on LJ.

Jeff was drunk again.

The bar was filled with the sound of raucous laughter from the group that had gravitated towards him, the planets to his sun. Even drunk, Jeff could light up a room.

Chip’s attention was drawn to the crowd again and again from where he sat at the bar, his hand still cradling his first drink. He had no wish to join them, yet something had kept him from leaving. And it wasn't company—the stools on either side of him had remained empty since Ryan and Greg had departed some time ago, leaving him alone. He was uncomfortably aware of the bartender’s gaze, which repeatedly came back to rest on him and his sole purchase. 

There was another upswing in noise. On the point of taking another sip, Chip’s eyes slid over to the huddle of bodies once more. He didn't know who any of them were, and he was willing to bet that Jeff didn't either—he hardly ever did. Jeff collected a new set every night. None of them really knew him or cared what he did to his body. They only served to encourage him onwards on his path of self-destruction. Soon Jeff would lead them to another bar or club, and then another, until morning found him washed up and wasted in an unfamiliar place with little or no memory of his transgressions. It was a recurring cycle.

Chip looked away, downing half his drink and grimacing as the burn hit the back of his throat. There was a time when he would have gone over there—at least tried to rein Jeff in—but that time had passed. Instead he stared into the remaining amber liquid, and the gold band of his wedding ring that glowed through it from the other side of the glass. 

You won’t find the answer to life’s problems at the bottom of a bottle, his father always used to say…

 

_”I don’t have a problem, buddy,” Jeff slurred, reaching for another beer. Chip swiped it off the table and placed it out of reach, giving the scantily clad girl who was sitting next to him a deadly look as she made to offer him her own. She shrugged and left them to it, rejoining a group of friends nearby._

_“You think it’s normal to be wasted all the time?”_

_“It’s called being young and having a good time, grandpa. You remember what fun is?”_

_“Yeah, I do,” Chip replied steadily, “and drinking morning, noon, and night isn't it.” He shifted closer, softening his tone. “You've got a problem, Jeff. You have to acknowledge that and get the help you need.”_

_Jeff looked up, his eyes burning with a sudden and intense anger that radiated off him in waves. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. Go back to your perfect life and leave mine the hell alone.” He roughly pushed past Chip to grab the bottle, standing up with the merest trace of a bitter smile. “Tell Patty I said hi.”_

 

A swell of noise brought Chip back to the present and the man singing merrily across the room, acting as if he didn't have a care in the world. 

Always acting. 

Perhaps Chip had lost the right to have any say in Jeff’s life, but he didn't have to watch this particular show either. Draining the last of his drink, he spared Jeff one last brief glance before slowly walking away.


End file.
